


my blood red pulsing heart accepting its solitude in the shadow of yours

by paddyfields (lucitae)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 3rd year rivalry, AtsuHina Week 2020, Fantasy AU, Idol AU, M/M, Royalty AU, domestic canon compliance, khr/crime au, lapslock, villain isekai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/paddyfields
Summary: the longest recorded total eclipse of the 21st century lasted 6 minutes and 38 seconds.their kiss lasts only a fraction of that. for atsumu is only an eclipsing variable, unable to keep the sun for long.a seven day celebration of atsuhina.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	1. day one: crime

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [this poem](https://hellopoetry.com/poem/953542/-eclipse-/) making this collection out to be more angsty than it actually is.
> 
> originally posted to [twitter](https://twitter.com/shokurensei/status/1269508831140167680?s=20), since edited.
> 
> favorites are 3, 6, and 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based off the future arc (tyl) of khr.

the last thing atsumu remembers is picking up umeboshi and other groceries on the way home.

he wakes up in a concrete building. devoid of anything but dust and half abandoned construction equipment. he reaches for the ring that dangles just above his heart. the chain that suspends it is still intact. atsumu can almost breathe a sigh of relief until he hears:

"'tsu-kun?"

and comes to face with a man whose hair is a shock of orange, eyes of molten gold, and a smile that resembles the sun. the way he called atsumu was far too familiar and yet...

there's a look of recognition that flashes through the man's eyes. a shift of expression that goes from worried mingled with relief to that of sheer politeness. a layer of distance set up by minute changes in facial muscles.

"my name is hinata shouyo," the man introduces. "you must have been brought here by the ten year bazooka, atsumu-san."

it's not really an explanation. but atsumu remembers the one time aran was accidentally shot with a contraption and a much older version of him visited for about five minutes. doesn't this mean he'll go back in what, four minutes?

the man before him is about to procure a sheet of paper from his inner breast pocket when he turns to look over his shoulder.

"there's not much time to explain," the man — hinata — says swiftly. he turns back to hold atsumu's gaze.

"inarizaki's boss was murdered a month ago."

atsumu's heart plummets. how could anyone have managed to harm kita-san? have they all failed as his guardians? is hinata giving him a warning? to go back in time and change things? if so, what?

his nails dig into the palm of his hand, the ring between them leaving an imprint of its crest behind.

before he can ask about the status of the rest of his group, hinata continues: "atsumu-san asked me to come assist him. i didn't think..."

he takes out two boxes from his pockets and holds them out until atsumu receives them.

"these are the weapons of the future that you entrusted to me." there's a smile on his face, probably meant to reassure atsumu but it just comes across melancholic.

and why weapons if he'll just just be swapped back in a minute?

before he can ask, there's a crash, far too close for comfort. atsumu watches the way hinata's jaw clench and eyes shoot a glare in the direction of the sound.

"it must be disorientating, atsumu-san."

atsumu glances at his watch. the five minutes are up. the cloud of smoke that brought him here is no where to be found.

"i apologize for the rush of explanation. but you must run through that back door," hinata points.

"follow this guide." the sheet of paper is quickly shoved into hands. "and accomplish what the future you has sent you here for."

hinata stands. the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand flares a brilliant orange, as warm and gentle as the sun on a spring day. the flame is plunged into a simple box. a crow swathed in the same color flies out and charges in the direction of the clash. a second box produces kusarigama — one for each hand. his back inspiring confidence.

hinata glances back as if for one last time. there's something about his expression that makes atsumu want to reach out and stop him. but that's cut off with a quick: "i can't hold them for very long so please stay safe, atsumu-san."

just as atsumu is about to turn on his heels and run, he glances down at the sheet of paper addressed "for shouyou."

even if its ten years in the future, he knows himself better than anyone else so he turns and yells: "you have to come back to me alive, shouyo!"

the smile that greets him with a simple nod is one that he holds onto as he dashes out of the concrete building. a prayer on his lips, a name on his tongue, and a promise of reunion.

the machine cracks open, cold air seeping out. tentative, atsumu takes a step out into the bright light and away from the device that had inserted a loop hole into the ten year bazooka.

there's a man whose hair is a shock of orange, eyes of molten gold, and a smile that resembles the sun, standing a little to the right. atsumu runs and collects him into his arms, burying his nose into the crook of his neck and taking in a deep breath. shouyou still smells like the laundry detergent from their shared apartment. his fingers wrinkle the freshly pressed suit.

warm hands pat his back. the same soothing pace that lulls atsumu to sleep when he's laden with guilt after a mission.

his forehead drops against shouyou's shoulder as he mutters: "sorry."

"don't be," shouyou says. atsumu doesn't need to look to know he's wearing his usual smile.

atsumu lifts his head to meet shouyou's eyes. shouyou presses his forehead against atsumu's.

"i got to meet your much younger self after all, tsu-kun." 

the last part is said teasingly, as if that nickname hasn't turned unironic over the course of the years. as if their first meeting remains 17 rather than this time traveling encounter of 14. but neither of their future selves have changed so...

atsumu plants a kiss on shouyou and threads their fingers together.

"let's go find kita-san," shouyou says, giving atsumu a small squeeze of the hand.

"yeah,' atsumu agrees with a nod. he has a lot to say. mostly this reckless plan of bringing in their younger selves and faking death. but that can wait.


	2. day 2: fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part of a larger osakita au that i doubt i'll ever get to wheezes

hinata shifts on the tree branch holding his weight so that the sun shines directly on his pair of wings. he stretches them a little, allowing them to bask in the sun's warmth. one black feather is dislodged after being caught amongst the leaves and flutters down. hinata stills and looks around, afraid some human would have caught sight of him and shrinks back into the shade of the tree branches. his fingers fumble with the camera in his lap. just as he is about to raise it to capture the terraced slopes of rice paddies for his younger sister, he hears someone call up to him: "tengu-kun, what is that in your hands?"

hinata glances in the direction of the voice and almost wrinkles his nose. nothing good ever comes from associating with a kitsune. he's about to give the fox spirit the silent treatment until he goes away when he notices the robes of white silk — _saifuku_ — of shinto priests.

"a camera," he decides to respond with before settling back into ignoring the kitsune and snapping photos of the scene before him.

"what does it do?" the fox spirit continues to ask, an expression of awe over his face as he watches hinata work the device.

what sort of creature living in the modern era would be unfamiliar with a camera? hinata almost scoffs before he catches whiff of the scent of _omiki_ ( 御神酒 ). spirits like his kind might don outfits to trick others but only a few of them are associated with shrines.

hinata lowers his guard a little.

"it takes pictures. whatever you see is reproduced."

"may i see?"

hinata frowns.

"identify yourself first."

the fox spirit puts his hands together and takes a deep bow. "forgive me, tengu-kun. the name's miya atsumu."

"it's been three hundred years since i set foot past the _torii_ of our shrine. my manners may have gotten a bit rusty," the spirit explains. there's a curl of his lips and hinata wonders how much of his statement hinata can take to be true. but nods anyway.

"hinata shouyo of the karasuno clan," he offers in return. unlike this fox, his mother had always engrained in him manners.

"that's quite far from here. what brings you all the way to hyogo prefecture?"

"i wished to see the world," hinata says simply before countering: "what about you?" it's suspicious how little this miya atsumu has provided.

"it's a long story," the kitsune says, tilting his head to the side in a way that almost seems coquettish.

"if you don't mind i can tell it to you when i don't need to strain my neck to speak."

hinata considers his options.

oh well, part of him setting out and spreading his wings was not only to see the world but also encounter people. this world was filled with interesting things. the nekomata he befriended around tokyo, the owl deity he now calls master, the kappa he battled with, and various humans he had managed to learn from when he could hide his wings. a fox shouldn't be an exception so hinata makes space and pats the spot beside him. "if you would like, miya-san."

the fox spirit reaches the tree branch in one bound. feet light as it lands, the branch doesn't even shake under the new weight. a flutter of cloth before he takes a seat.

"don't call me that," he says with a wrinkle of his nose.

"although my twin isn't here, it still causes me confusion. atsumu is fine."

"if you insist, atsumu-san," hinata says.

atsumu leans forward, grin unmistakable. "and since you are calling me atsumu, you wouldn't mind if i called you shouyo-kun instead would you?"

agh. kitsune spirits really are... give him an inch and he'll take a mile.

"so...?" hinata decides to say instead, ignoring the question. atsumu merely smiles. hinata watches his tail sway from side to side behind him.

"it's a shrine not too far from here. but it's empty." what's reflected in his face is that of melancholy.

"empty?" hinata parrots.

"empty," atsumu repeats before the expression quickly shifts. eyes concealed in a smile that even hinata knows atsumu does not mean.

"the god we served passed on." atsumu opens his eyes and looks ahead. the sun dips past the green slopes, casting long shadows mingled with its brilliant gold. so he wasn't just any kitsune but rather a _zenko_. "before he returned to the fabric of the universe he told us to do what we wanted. i chose to see the world and my brother chose to stay."

it seems as if there's something that atsumu wants to ask at the tip of his tongue but decides to swallow it instead.

"and so," tone picking up in chirpiness, "i decided to record the scenes i've witnessed for my brother!" he extracts a roll of paper from his sleeve.

hinata almost bursts out laughing from the chicken scratches on paper. the ink blots of a calligraphy brush that has gone astray in trying to depict clouds and mountains but end up looking the same. he holds himself back.

"hey!" atsumu protests, "i just never had time to practice unlike my master!" and a grumble of 'give me a hundred years and i'll be as good as tensho shubun!'

"you don't need to," hinata decides to say as he flicks through his saved photos to show them to atsumu.

"if you want to become an artist then please do keep practicing, but if its just to capture what's in front of you this is enough."

atsumu stares at the pictures in wonder as hinata flicks from one to the next. hinata can't help the smile that creeps up his face.

"this is wonderful!" atsumu exclaims, barely able to contain his excitement. then falls just as quickly: "but how do i send this to my brother?"

"you can print them," hinata says before remembering this is a 300 year old+ fox spirit who probably has no idea what hinata is talking about.

"i'll show you some other time," he says hastily before noticing the words that have fallen from his lips.

when he meets atsumu's eyes it is full of anticipation and hope, so bright that hinata has to turn to hide that dust of pink that threatens to crawl onto his skin.

hinata leaps from the tree. black wings flutter a bit to help him land with ease before he turns around and raises his head to glance at the zenko perched above.

"if you don't mind," he starts with an outstretched hand, "would you like to join me in my journey?"

after all, they have the same notion in mind.

hinata watches the way atsumu's ears perk up. the tail that bristles in excitement and barely has time to respond when the fox follows his lead and jumps.

hinata's not quite sure what overcomes him to step out to catch. probably a reflex of trying to make sure his sister doesn't get hurt when she tries to imitate his ruthless tree climbing sessions. or so he excuses himself. and so he ends up with a fox spirit in his arms with eyes filled with mirth, leaning close to his ear and whispering: "i'll be in your care, shouyou-kun."

a shiver travels down hinata's spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~how many times will i kill off kita before this is over~~


	3. day 3: domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imoni is a type of taro and meat soup that is traditionally eaten in the autumn in the touhoku region.

he appraises the taro root with one hand, gripping it the way he usually does with a volleyball. despite his declaration that the transition of fall brings about cravings of _imoni_ , shouyou is certain atsumu is only doing this for him.

two weeks ago, when the air conditioner grumbled along and they no longer needed a fan to supplement, shouyou had mentioned in passing that while abroad the one thing that he craved when one season dipped into another was his mother’s _imoni_. the one where miso paste is added and loads of konnyaku, mingled with root vegetables, tofu, and an assortment of mushrooms. atsumu had hummed under his breath as his fingers idly carded through shouyou’s hair.

it is not a dish atsumu is well acquainted with, judging from the opened tabs on his phone and last night when he jolted from the couch upon seeing shouyou exiting the shower. the clip he was watching cut off in mid sentence as he hastily greeted shouyou with a kiss. using the towel around shouyou’s neck to his advantage. shouyou merely smiled against atsumu’s lips then.

and here, again, the familiar curl of his lips appears on his face once more, endeared by how much atsumu pays attention. it has always been like this.

the bus trips to their games and how atsumu seems to want to sit near shouyou but instead allows bokuto to take up the space beside him. opting to lean against the back of shouyou’s seat to converse. maybe it’s consideration. maybe it’s nervousness. maybe it’s his idea of a long game — a rally ever since he declared those fated words of tossing to shouyo all those years ago.

whatever it is, these idiosyncrasies of atsumu is what he loves the most.

“that one is fine,” shouyou says with a grin as his fingers brush against the back of atsumu’s hand.

atsumu returns it — inner part of shouyou’s wrist — as he places the taro into the basket, next to the miso paste and three different mushrooms shouyou had selected.

they end up with a little more groceries than they had planned. atsumu received a phone call just as they are about to head out, so shouyou opts for sharing the burden between the two of them — the way he used to do it with natsu. it brings back memories. it’s probably same for atsumu too because it makes him a little flustered.

“i can hang up,” he offers.

shouyou shakes his head and atsumu returns to yelling at the other line for bad timing. shouyou ends up chuckling, listening to how quickly the anger transitions to desperation, and watching the bag of groceries sway between them. a connection held by stretched plastic and dinner supplies, keeping their steps in sync with each other. shouyou smiles to himself and listens in to the conversation.

but it’s not like osamu-san would be any more familiar with _imoni_. just because he owns a restaurant doesn’t mean he knows all the cuisines under the sun. ( besides, it focuses on _onigiri_ but shouyou appreciates the thought anyway. )

the red light reflects off the window of the cars at the intersection. lights on both sides of the road illuminate the concrete walkway. billboard signs add to the livelihood of the night, shedding light onto spots missed by the lamps overhead. shouyou watches atsumu’s profile from the side. the shadows that the unequal distribution of lights create. the subtle shifts in expression. the annoyance that quickly transitions into a smile when atsumu notices shouyou staring. and in that moment, shouyou pulls atsumu towards him, and plants a kiss on his lips. grins as he releases atsumu and walks ahead, forcing atsumu to follow from their connected grocery bag, when the light turns green.

he’s thought about it for a while now. wanting to smooth out the furrow of when selecting the taro root or force the tongue back where it belongs when’s it slips out in front of the cashier.

as always it is the little things atsumu does that has shouyou thinking _ah this is the man i am in love with_.


	4. day 4: royal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by quynh's [atsuhina royalty au](https://twitter.com/naiivu_u/status/1253223520206614529), song of achilles, and a bit of king's maker (kang jiyoung)

every two decades or so, the empire collects political hostages from its governing kingdoms under the pretense of finding companions for the heir to the crown. the first born of the local ruler preferably. its not a hard and fast rule — as long as a blood lineage can be proven.

miya atsumu hails from a small country to the east where the custom and culture is vastly different from the main imperial state. a country of rolling green hills and terraced slopes that produce tea and rice depending on the location and altitude.

atsumu offers to go. not that it matters which one of them heads off to the empire. but he's always been curious of the lands beyond their borders, of the nations across from this sea. but his parents are unwilling to let either of them go. their uncle was shipped off to the empire at the young age of fifteen and never heard from again.

but refusal in this case indicates rebellion. and neither atsumu nor osamu wishes to see this land blanketed in crimson.

"i will go," atsumu says for the fourth and final time.

"then promise me," his father says with eyes holding a film of tears, "to not draw any attention and come back safe."

atsumu nods as his mother seats him in front of her mirror. he folds his legs beneath him. the blue cushion fraying at the edges, but the embroidered pattern his mother had created decades ago remain. this room her dowry. the tatami mats with _igusa_ father had personally woven. the carved _shodana_ cabinets in the corner. the _bonsai_ sitting on the ledge of the circular window.

he almost feels like a bride. and would have made a joke about it if there was something to laugh about.

there isn't.

a lacquered wooden comb inlaid with mother of pearl in a floral pattern runs through atsumu's hair. his mother's hands tremble as they straighten atsumu's hair for the last time. a black ribbon. a pair of shears. a decade worth of hair falls to the floor in silence. the only sound in the room is that of his mother's muffled cries.

atsumu reaches to pat her hands.

osamu holds a tub and quietly applies the mixture to atsumu's hair. atsumu watches as his hair fades in color.

"it is for better assimilation with the empire," his father apologizes.

because dark hair like his is rare. in the empire that worships gods different from theirs, there is one of the underworld that brings about calamity and fear with hair as dark as night. it is likely that their uncle fell to the fear mongering of the mass. atsumu knows as much and nods.

atsumu will not follow in his footsteps.

atsumu's scalp burns but he helps wrap his lock of hair and tuck it in a nondescript box. in the case he is unable to return, this will be buried in his stead so that he may join his ancestors.

he sets off the next day.

all the tributes arrive around the same time. the sun palace stealing all breath away with its tall marble pillars that sparkle when the rays of sun hit it. the gilded gold that boasts of legacy and wealth. the labyrinth of a garden housing exotic plants. the tributes are shuffled like cattle to their rooms and gathered for the welcoming party but the emperor and his heir doesn't make an appearance. not then nor the days following that. even the young princess is no where to be found. so the tributes end up having time to themselves. some of them cause ruckuses: harassing servants, trying to sneak a peek at the princess, drinking theirselves under the table and the like. others try to throw competitions to prove their worth.

on the fifth day of his arrival, atsumu slips away from the gathering of tributes and explores the sun palace. he's just about to turn the corner when he runs into a boy a head shorter than him.

a flash of surprise before those eyes turn sharp and atsumu finds himself crowded against the wall. as if this boy was trying to escape pursuers.

it's the effect of the setting sun, combined with the polished marble of this palace that has atsumu rendered speechless at the sight before him: hair as vibrant as the sun itself paired with a set of eyes so determined, a sense of hunger dancing beneath them — threatening to swallow you alive.  
( and you would let him. and that thought alone after you come to is enough to strike fear deep into you. )

atsumu waits until the only thing he can hear is the beat of his heart against his throat and the even pace of the other boy's breath.

he waits for another moment to pass until he no longer hears footsteps or the yelling of those after this boy. atsumu licks the boy's palms to force him to let go. the smile that follows causes his heart to skip a beat. he chalks it up to adrenaline of being cornered.

atsumu's first impression of him is rude. but in a blinding way that makes him want to forgive this boy before him.

"forgive me," the boy says with a smile, eyes hidden behind crescents. his tone is bright, purposefully harmless. but those arms that had atsumu cornered were that of a swordsman. tone of speech and poise of nobility. atsumu wonders if he is a tribute picked on by jealous ones.

"it'll be hard to," atsumu counters, lips curling, "when i don't even know your name."

his small frame shakes with mirth. something deep in atsumu curls.

"shouyou," the boy introduces himself and refuses to offer up his last name that would signify the family and kingdom he hails from so atsumu does the same.

they meet again, a week later on, the training grounds. the tributes, up to no good, set up a mini olympics to flex. atsumu was forced into the archery competition. found it absolutely boring. so instead of showcasing his ability ( splitting someone else's arrow lodged in the bull's eye ) he lets it land in that sweet spot close to the outer circles and calls it a day. an unapologetic "i told you i wasn't good at archery" before skipping off to play observer.

not long after he settles down on the grass, a shadow falls over him. the same wide grin kin to the sun looks down upon him. shouyou joins him.

"that was on purpose wasn't it?" marks the beginning of provoking atsumu to not just fake mediocrity and run back home.

it ignites something within atsumu. something of his younger days of frolicking with osamu. of proving worth.

and so every few days atsumu would find himself in shouyo's presence, observing or commentating on the other suitors. and in secret, only shouyou is allowed to ascertain atsumu's true skill.

so distracted by their rendevous, atsumu never noticed the odd pattern of tributes sent home. either due to harassing servants or bullying other tributes and deemed unfit to be the empire's heir apparent's companion. or they would end up with food poisoning.

atsumu chalked it up to luck and the fact that this is the empire with eyes everywhere.

as long as shouyou continued to show up, he had nothing to be concerned over.

then a month. the crown prince still has yet to make an appearance to the tributes who are to become his future aides and the day of the hunt has already arrived. the hunt marks the beginning of the end of the selection. it's not surprising that everyone is antsy. those who score the highest mark have a guaranteed spot to make it to the next round of the selection. others who do not receive a spot nor a recommendation will be sent home. the target of the hunt: the golden tailed boar.

by the time atsumu finds it, a bunch of tributes have surrounded it. trying to slash it to no avail as its skin seemed impervious to the weapons.

atsumu, unfazed, lets his arrow fly.

he grins as it pierces the eye. and then the next one. he's about to finish it off when he watches a broad sword launched, whizzing past him, and lodging into the mouth of the boar where it keels over — dead.

he turns around and sees shouyou there. eyes glinting. holding the same hunger that sends shivers down his spine.

it is then, during the awarding ceremony, that they all realize who had won the hunt. some tributes visibly pale as shouyou walks on stage. the gold embroidered into the fabric of his cape and that brooch on his chest was enough to declare his full name. the heir to the throne of the empire facing the sun: hinata shouyou.

in his hand is a scroll that lists ten names of the participants of the next round.

miya atsumu is unsurprised when he hears his name amongst them. instead of disappointment at not being able to return home, something curls deep within him when he meets shouyou's steady gaze.

atsumu licks his lips and wonders if he'll be the one to hold shouyo's right hand in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the hunt details come from the webtoon the black haired princess.


	5. day 5: rivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short second person pov.
> 
> also i must admit that my idea of "rivals" is just heavy homoerotic subtext of two individuals competing against each other like red/green from pokemon.

a brilliant smile, despite sweat matting hair against face. one that can't even be washed out by the harsh fluorescent lights of the stadium. as if he's happy to be here. as if he had poured his soul into training to be able to climb to this stage.

knowing hinata shouyou it must be true.

because the same givings of joy resound within you.

you watch the swig of the bottle during one of the time outs. the hair of orange hair that gets tucked behind his ear.

it's grown long. so long. no longer the spiky array that seems to make up for height. like a stone where the edges have been rounded and the surface has been polished and—

last year karasuno never made it to nationals. you knew yet your eyes still swept across the sea of individuals looking for that tuft of orange.

many things can happen in the time span of a year.

a grin forms on your face. and you hope both your teams stay long enough to face each other again.

and there it is. that same feeling that curls deep within you, that gnaws at you, that leaves you with callouses in your hands and a wrist held up by tape after vigorous practice. it's never left you but somehow it burns stronger when your eyes meet his through the net.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also please, for the love of god, read [this](https://twitter.com/atsumushairgel/status/1274249705539735552).


	6. day 6: idols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the longest recorded total eclipse of the 21st century lasted 6 minutes and 38 seconds.  
> their kiss lasts only a fraction of that. for atsumu is only an eclipsing variable, unable to keep the sun for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a mix of:
> 
>   * yg's win: who is next ( survival show ) where jyp and yg trainees face off
>   * starship's no:mercy when changkyun/i.m joins unexpectedly
>   * jo jinho's journey from sm the ballad to pentagon
> 

> 
> because i forgot that pd101 existed and would make my life easier.

the longest recorded total eclipse of the 21st century lasted 6 minutes and 38 seconds.

atsumu falls in love in half that time.

he’s a trainee on a survival show aiming for debut. atsumu is just a guest trainee, a byproduct appearance from two companies doing a “friendly” competition to see which group has more promise.

the room bursts into applause and appreciative hollers after a beautiful display of martial tricking. the boy with orange hair lands on his feet — light — as if that flip wasn’t a result of vigorous practice and hundreds of bruises. but what steals the air out of atsumu’s lungs and leaves him weak at his knees isn’t the impressive gymnastics maneuvers but rather the smile on his face. it never gets buried under the pain of exertion nor does it falter under the onslaught of unending choreography. as if happiness was defined by the opportunity to perform. in that moment, the backdrop of mirrors, linoleum flooring, and fluorescent lights drop away. center stage, spotlight, surrounded by a sea of fans.

the name hinata shouyou becomes imprinted in his heart.

the earth revolves around the sun seven times before atsumu sees him again in person.

but the reunion is marred by osamu’s decision to retire from all this fanfare — for both atsumu and the fanbase.

shouyou greets them with a deep bow, despite debuting a few months later after winning the show with his group. despite having made his debut two years earlier than atsumu’s group. despite holding all the qualifications of a senior in this industry, he holds himself the way a rookie would.

atsumu’s nails dig into the flesh of his palm, jaw tightening at the sight before him.

hinata shouyou of the once popular idol group wouldn’t be here — introduced as the new member of atsumu’s group — if not for that shitty company that decided to toss their group under the bus. in order to let the bribing scandals the company was involved in to be overlooked.

“it is an honor to be working with all of you,” shouyou says.

it reminds atsumu of the fancams and videos he devoured after hearing the even pace of osamu’s sleep.

he’s grown since then.

not just taller. muscles thickened from years of maintenance and training. a presence that makes one wonder what he would be like onstage. and a smile that atsumu hasn’t forgotten about even though 5 total solar eclipses have passed.

the group, still re-adjusting from loss, gives him a tepid welcome.

shouyou’s smile doesn’t falter.

it takes a few moons for them to warm up. until shouyou feels like he’s always been a part of this.

but how does one translate years of admiration ( read: crushing ) into something palatable in physical proximity? something that won’t result in him backing away in fear?

it’s not as hard as atsumu makes it out to be. he even forgives osamu in the process.

sweat laden backs pressed against the cool mirror. atsumu watches it fog up as shouyou’s fingers accidentally brush against his while passing a chilled bottle of water.

practice ended an hour ago.

shouyou wanted to nail the choreography tonight. atsumu decided to keep him company.

late nights call for unraveling. divulgences that don’t normally occur in the light of day. confessionals almost, in the presence of trust. just you, me, and these four walls.

atsumu learns of an idol whose dream was cut short at the peak of his popularity, who refused to acknowledge this was the end. chose the hard path of restarting all over again, training himself so that no one could overlook him.

and shouyou learns that someone has watched him all this time, anticipating his return. knowing it is different from having it presented to you in its rawest form.

he cups atsumu’s cheeks with both hands. atsumu tastes salted tears in the quietude of night.

it is then, limbs sprawled on the floor of the training room, shoulders in contact with shouyou’s that he finally acknowledges: dreams change, even if they are hard to swallow. reality forces it down your throat.

that osamu smiles brighter now than he ever did on stage. that his phone calls are filled with a sense of enthusiasm when relaying his college life — something that was inexistent in the past few years.

dreams, like humans, change.

atsumu wonders what his will be in a few more years.

the longest recorded total eclipse of the 21st century lasted 6 minutes and 38 seconds.

shouyou’s fingers curl against atsumu's jaw. lips stealing his breath away after a stray brush to the inner wrist as atsumu cheers him on for the solo stage.

the sun has watched the earth complete its ritual just shy of three times since then.

tokyo dome is packed with fans in celebration of black jackal’s 7th anniversary. the light sticks dance in unison to the beat as they scream _bokuto beeeeeaaaaam_. it’s counting down to the end of bokuto’s special stage.

it was unintentional, atsumu could almost swear, an unconscious reflex to linger on shouyou’s skin in passing. but all he sees is hunger in those pupils that reflect his own and he decides to swallow.

a laugh that makes atsumu’s stomach curl. a playful push and the back of the hand that smears his lipstick.

the ( remaining ) functioning part of atsumu’s brain wonders how many fans are going to lose their voice when they see shouyou’s debauched look. a solo stage packed with hip moments, completed by a deep v necked silk shirt that reveals more than it covers.

shouyou deftly fixes his mic. the black cord that snakes into his shirt serves as a reminder as to why atsumu shouldn’t pull him back.

atsumu watches as shouyo turns on his heels and heads out into the cacophony of cheers that welcome him. the flood of lights creates a silhouette out of him. orange hair becoming a crown as he holds their attention. it’s dazzling.

the longest recorded total eclipse of the 21st century lasted 6 minutes and 38 seconds.

their encounter only lasts a fraction of that.

the sun cannot be held or shielded for too long, for it belongs to everyone.

++ bonus:

“my name has less to do with celestial bodies and more to do with the flower,” shouyou says one day as atsumu cards his fingers through shouyou’s hair.

shouyou reaches out. atsumu leans forward as shouyou catches his face between the palms of his hands.

“and you are who i chose to face.”

there’s that smile again that makes atsumu forget he has knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its a bit confusing as a read but the last part happens 3 years after hinata joins atsumu's group


	7. day 7: isekai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was formed after binge reading mxtx's scum villain self saving system; as you wish, prince; and my love for ten thousand different villainess isekai mangas.
> 
> this really needs to be part of a larger au but my brain can't plot that well.

the cold edge of the blade presses against atsumu’s, nicking at his skin. his temples throb to the pace of his heart and he looks up at the owner of the blade.

there’s something familiar about him that he can’t quite place. no, not the fury. or the loathing held within those eyes.

it’s the bright orange hair that reminds him of the sun sinking below the horizon, of the last few embers of a flame. of someone who has _the eyes of the heroes of old and a mouth full of star_ s.

where had he heard that line before?

“speak,” the boy hisses.

the blade nicks his skin.

atsumu’s eyes widen when he watches crimson drip down the slope of his neck.

he crumples in pain, clutching his head as if it’s about to be split in two. atsumu gasps. his head throbs. it’s like someone takes a hammer to his head and forced fragmented memories into him.

in them is a kitsune that runs into the forest, screaming expletives. constantly looking over his shoulder in fear. a parade of lanterns on his tail.

“why is it my fate to end up like this!” the fox demon screams upon being cornered, fist pounding against his own chest. the sky rumbles overhead. “the one who decided this fate for me should experience what it’s like!”

lightning cleaves the tree behind him in two. dark clouds swirl dangerously above. the smell of burnt wood mingles with that of electricity.

an ancient curse invoked. the sacrifice — the soul.

wait, a second. wasn’t the curse/ceremony/ritual whatever supposed to happen in chapter 348? atsumu had hastily written two sentences describing how the demon king’s subordinate used this as a last resort to revive his beloved king. not that it mattered because the hero’s protagonist glow would never falter.

the pain subsides. atsumu blinks.

the eye reflected on the surface of the blade is his but not his. the red of demon markings drawing attention to the outline of his eye. his pupils are slits in amber. teeth and fingernails as sharp as the kitsune who invoked the ancient spell.

“speak!” the boy hisses again but doesn’t press his blade closer. his hand almost seems to tremble. behind him is a sea of lanterns. subordinates spread out to keep watch and intervene in case the fox demon decides to do something stupid.

not that he would succeed even if he tried. after all this is the high fantasy world of **< _sun kissed god_ >** and no world can exist without its star. the manga serialization of this popular webnovel was just announced yesterday and atsumu had gone out to celebrate. so why the fuck is he here in the story he wrote?

it can’t be a dream. the trickle of flesh and the pain is too hyper realistic. ( he still gives himself a pinch to his thigh to double check. ow. so yup definitely not a dream. )

so isekai?

preposterous. that’s fiction. it’s hilarious to even consider—

patience worn thin, the blade now tips his chin so that atsumu stares directly into the eyes of the protagonist he has lovingly created for the past seven years.

right. that too. where the fuck are they in terms of storyline and how the hell is he supposed to remember all the details he threw up onto the web.

his face still sports softer features as if on the cusp of adulthood but not quite there yet. he holds the sword with his right hand so that means he hasn’t lost it to poison yet. and...

the reason atsumu hadn’t recognized his creation right off the bat ( other than well he’s not an artist he only written about him okay ) is the fact that the most identifiable object that sets the protagonist apart from the rest of the cast is missing: a fire opal earring dangling from a three centimeter chain. the sun motif that he carries as a reminder of his failures. the very accessory that strikes fear into his opponents in battle!

and oh how touching the story was, if atsumu can say so himself! ( the comments do agree. ) cradling his darling sister natsu who had been poisoned by the demon king’s subordinate, in the grief of feeling her last breath leave her body, the protagonist takes one of her earrings and pierces it into his own ear! how badass! how manly! accessories for all regardless of gender!!

so how could it not be there?

unless...

atsumu’s eyes widen.

this is the opening scene of his novel.

he wrote a single line and never gave it a second thought because who would care about cannon fodder? everyone wants an explosive opening! that's how you draw in readers!

except now he’s inhabiting the body of the subordinate that poisoned the protagonist’s sister.

what happened in the original? think. come on, atsumu, think.

the subordinate was slaughtered before he had a chance to confess. no, not by our beautiful protagonist who had yet to sully his hands in blood, who still had qualms about taking another's life. but by someone sent by the demon king to keep watch for loose lips. the same person who will deprive the hero of his right arm.

oh the trials and tribulations atsumu had put him through! all the tears he squeezed from his reader’s heart to make it more satisfying when the hero grows to be strong! truly earning that god title!

atsumu stares at the face in front of him. must be that author’s motherly love that makes him want to reach out and cup this face. after all, it really is “hinata shouyou.”

“so you can speak.”

“that’s not important,” he says brusquely.

sure, he could follow his own draft and die in the stead of this fox demon but:

  1. most isekais establish that the only reason you’ve transmigrated into a world is because you’re dead in the original one
  2. what other chances will he get to experience the world he’s created and interact with all the characters??



so right now all he needs to focus on is survive. hard, given that he’s just poisoned shouyou’s sister and doesn’t carry an antidote. but he’s the author! if there’s a will there’s a way or something like that.

and the first rule of survival is to cling to the protagonist in hopes that their halo would serve as some sort of umbrella you coincidentally get shielded by.

“then what is?”

“the demon king sent an assassin and you’ll lose your right arm.”

shouyou’s eyes widen for a fraction before his brows knit together again.

“why would you tell me that?” he questions, rightfully so. “and even if that is true, don’t think i’ll let you off.”

they don’t have time for this okay? any moment now.

atsumu taps into the fox demon’s skills, heightening his senses and notices a shadow darting amongst the trees. he grabs the blade still pressed against the bottom of his chin, ignoring the way it splices open his skin, and pulls shouyou forward. shouyou falls forward. atsumu shifts his weight so that he catches shouyou before his face plants into the ground.

a ball of fire sent after the assailant.

hinata household subordinates give the assassin a chase but it’s far too late. the assassin has assimilated into the night.

atsumu winces. not because shouyou digs his elbow into atsumu to pry himself free but because the assailant only retreated after completing his job. he rolls up the sleeve of his right arm. there’s a kunai lodged into the bark of the tree that still smokes from the curse. a four centimeter long gash in atsumu’s arm.

he watches his arm fall from where he positioned it, dangle uselessly, no longer able to feel it. the skin around the wound turning black at a frightening pace.

shouyou notices it too. grasping the arm. probably too tightly judging from the way fingers dig into flesh but he feels nothing. shouyou looks concerned. it’s kind of cute. his own creation worried about him. atsumu could laugh under a different set of circumstances.

“why?” shouyou demands.

“because this is how the demon king treats us. pawns to be discarded once our usefulness is over,” atsumu says, spinning a tale hoping to appeal to the hero’s sense of justice.

“don’t you have the antidote?”

atsumu shakes his head.

“only our king does. loyalty is just another synonym for fear.”

“that means you can’t cure my sister.” atsumu’s arm has turned white from how hard shouyou has pressed it.

“just because i don’t have the antidote doesn’t mean i don’t know how to make it,” atsumu corrects. he says it loud enough so that the subordinates who have returned and are pointing their spears at him will understand. he may be the enemy but he can’t die yet.

well the original owner of this body had no idea. but miya atsumu is the author. in chapter 289 shouyou finds the all powerful curing plant to save the female lead that atsumu bullshitted off of japanese snake gourd facts. the shrine maiden had ingested the poisoned _sake_ meant for shouyou. the same poison that had inflicted natsu all those years ago. what a touching scene that was! sparking the beginning of their romance!

“can it cure your arm?”

“huh?” slips out of atsumu’s lips before he can catch himself. he pries his useless arm out of shouyou’s hands with his left and rolls his sleeve back down. “no.”

“this is a specific fast acting poison that keeps it spread local.” or something along those lines. atsumu never gave it much thought because all he needed was to render the protagonist’s arm useless!! but not enough that he dies of poison! he didn’t have to consider actual feasibility and brushed it under the banner of high fantasy. “this arm is now useless,” atsumu says with a shrug.

but he’s still unwilling to part with it, flinching when someone raises their blade in an offer to sever dead weight. first of all it would just be an open wound for infection. second he’d really rather not see limbs separating from his body. write about it all he wants but seeing it is another thing.

atsumu’s lips curl. “didn’t think you were the type to care about an enemy’s wellbeing,” he teases.

shouyou bristles. “i don’t. but from your words it seems as if you spared me from that fate.” he clears his throat. “besides, i need you to cure natsu.”

“well then,” atsumu holds his right wrist with his left hand and lays them out as if for shouyou to cuff them.

“i’m not going to tie you up.”

“didn’t think it was this easy to earn your trust.”

“you haven’t,” shouyou retorts, but his eyes carry with them a gentleness that wasn’t there before. he really made his protagonist too soft hearted. ( but if he didn’t he would be dead so he ain’t complaining. )

“it just feels wrong.”

shouyou retracts his sword, slicing off a part of his sleeve, brushing the gesture off as cleaning the blade that atsumu had dirtied with his own blood. and yet the strip of cloth gets wound over atsumu's hand, complete with a knot that sits in the palm of his hand.

shouyou doesn't say anything.

with a flick of the wrist and the sheathing of his sword, the lanterns falls into two neat lines. they flank atsumu on each side and march to the pace shouyou sets.

not once does shouyou turn back.

even now, despite not yet reaching adulthood, shouyou’s back inspires confidence. no wonder the goddess of the sun had conferred her blessings onto him in two more years.

atsumu tilts his head back and looks at the canvas overhead. what a boring splash of stars against black ink because he never cared to do more. his eyes fall to his right arm and watches how it sways from his movements. and then at his left hand where the warmth of shouyou's hand seems entrapped in that make shift bandage, imprinting into his skin.

atsumu can't help but wonder what the ripples of his arrival will change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extras & why atsumu became the kitsune:
> 
> akaashi-san had sent over the rough draft of udai-san’s first page. must be someone’s sense of humor to insert the author as a cameo. but really... to craft a small side character that perishes after him... maybe atsumu wouldn't have regarded it as poor taste if he didn't end up transmigrating into his own novel. he was laughing ( albeit tipsy ) when he saw the draft. alas.
> 
> atsumu thinks darkly as he pours another cup of sake for himself.


End file.
